Confessions of a tourist: Well-oiled and burning with shame

Mixing vodka and sun lotion made Alan Beale feel very bad indeed

SUNBURN IS a terrible thing. So why do people think it’s okay to laugh at it?

All right, I hadn’t been smart. My skin was used to nothing stronger than the dishwater sunshine of an English October, but on my first afternoon at a five-star resort in Malaysia, I’d fallen asleep by the pool. Worse, I’d fallen asleep with a book on my face. A sharply defined diagonal line now divided the fiery pink flesh of my upper forehead and the snow-white skin of my brow, nose and cheeks. My ears were different colours, too. At least my chest, thighs and shins matched: they were uniformly red and pumping out heat like a two-bar electric fire.

It was agony, but wherever I went, instead of sympathy, I met with smirks and suppressed chuckles. Yes, I looked ridiculous, but what about the pain? These were serious burns: if I’d got them